


Struck

by Little_Cello



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Cello/pseuds/Little_Cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Sam would have hung back, had he been thinking straight. But he hadn't been thinking straight. He had wanted to set things right, Gene knows. And Gene also knows that he had been the one to make sure Sam would make up for his earlier mistake.</p>
<p>But now, Sam's mistake has turned into his, Gene's mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struck

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the whump!bingo at Lifein1973. Promt: "Struck be lightning"

“So help me God, Tyler, you _will_ set this right.”

 

Gene is fuming. For once, Sam can't blame him. He swallows, finding that something seems to be stuck in his throat, making him want to gag.

 

“Yes, guv.”

 

Gene glares at him for another long moment, his mouth a thin, tight line, his eyes wide; he's practically shaking with fury. Sam finds it hard to keep looking at him, so he averts his gaze, letting it settle on the ground. A heartbeat later, Gene swoops past him with long strides. Every movement practically screams restricted anger at the people he's passing, and Sam hesitates before following his guv out of the building. In the distance, he can hear thunder rumbling, and a wall of black clouds is building up on the horizon.

 

~*~

 

They are sat in the Cortina now, driving through Manchester. The radio is crackling non-stop, Phyllis keeping telling them for the umpteenth time that the suspect has not been sighted yet.

 

“Keep lookin', he can't have gone far,” Sam tells her, staring intently up ahead. “Marlowe's bound to head somewhere familiar, somewhere he can hide easily. He doesn't 'ave many options left... It's either the docks, or his company's old building.”

 

Gene remains silent, eyes trained on the road. Sam leans back as Phyllis rings off, exhaling slowly. He knows Marlowe's type – loud mouthed to the point of being obnoxious, but when things go tits-up, the first to run. Preferably to a familiar area. Once more, Sam's thoughts linger on the fact that he underestimated the man. He had also taken him for someone who liked to talk a lot, but would never follow through with the things he promised.

 

Sam had been wrong, and now Marlowe was gone and a police constable is in intensive care, fighting for his life.

 

The first heavy drops hit the Cortina's windscreen. Of course, Gene keeps the speed as frighteningly high as ever. They speed around a corner, then another one, then he hits the brakes and the car skids to a halt in front of a large, abandoned industry complex.

 

“That's it, that's where he should be...” Sam says, more to himself than anyone else. _Please let me be right. Let me be right this time._

 

Gene turns to look at Sam, who nearly recoils from the cold glare. “I'll say it again, Tyler. You will set this right. We will be able to tell PC Garter once he wakes up that the scrotum who did this to 'im will rot in chokey till there's nothin' left of 'im to rot away. Is that understood?”

 

Sam nods wordlessly. Gene doesn't need to tell him that. During the drive, a nervous energy has started to build up inside him, and now he's out of the car even before his DCI has opened the door, blinking against the rain that's starting to fall. He pulls the gun from his jacket – he's taken it with him, knowing that Marlowe is most probably armed as well. Sam doesn't want to take any chances, not anymore. The man won't get away again.

 

There's a flash of light, illuminating the leaden sky, and Sam sees him.

 

“STOP! P'LICE!”

 

Sam's shout is drowned out by the clap of thunder, but he doesn't care as he starts forward, pursuing the man who now runs into the abandoned building. He follows, entering the building in no time, and sees Marlowe head for the stairs, skipping two steps at once as he runs. But Sam is fit, he can do that as well. Gripping the gun more tightly, he speeds up, taking the stairs with long jumps. The distance between them is shrinking steadily. Somewhere behind and below him, Sam can hear Gene huffing and puffing up the stairs as well. 

 

Soon, they are at the top, and there is one more flight of stairs. Sam can hear a door bang, can see Marlowe disappear around a corner at the top of the staircase, so he speeds up once more, and then he's outside, rain pouring onto him like someone is emptying a very large bucket over Manchester, and the thunder is near deafening. His target is still running, but has slowed down notably. He must be out of breath, just like Sam, but Sam ignores it, much rather concentrating on the growing feeling of triumph as he runs out onto the flat roof, skidding once because the ground under his feet is so wet. Closer and closer, still closer, he reaches out, he sees something flash in Marlowe's hand and grips his won weapon tighter, closer, he's got him, nearly got him, he'll set it right, he grabs the man's arm and victory flares, flares –

 

Light.

 

Pain.

 

Nothing.

 

~*~

 

Gene is panting up the stairs, step after step, struggling to keep up with his mad DI. Of course he'd go off like a rabid dog; Sam is feeling guilty, and rightly so. Another flight of stairs. He can hear the pounding of feet above him, and sees a fringe of the black leather jacket when he looks up. Sam can be an absolute div, but no-one pursues suspects as successfully as he does, Gene will give him that. Another flight – a clap of thunder from outside – and Gene keeps running, up the last few steps, where he sees the door leading out onto the roof. Bloody hell, he can't _really_ be that out of breath...!

 

Slowing down slightly, accompanied by another roll of thunder, Gene steps out onto the roof. Sam's nearly caught up with Marlowe, he notes with some satisfaction. Some Gene Genie motivation, and the bloke's off like –

 

_CRACK_

 

For a moment, the entire world is dead silent.

 

For a moment, Sam and Marlowe are surrounded by a completely unnatural glow of light.

 

For a moment, Sam's back arches with a morbid elegance.

 

The moment passes.

 

Sam and Marlowe are on the ground.

 

Gene's ears are ringing violently.

 

Gene is running, his hurting side forgotten.

 

“Tyler. Tyler!”

 

He's on his knees now, turning Sam on his back.

 

“Sam, for God's sake.”

 

He isn't moving, the bastard is completely still. His right hand, the one he'd been holding the gun with, is glistening red, burned, and Gene is horrified to see the same marks around Sam's neck, where his necklace and pendant touch the skin. He raises a hand to slap him awake, but then hesitates as he sees burn marks on Sam's face as well. Not too bad, considering, but still bad enough.

 

Gene doesn't know how much time has passed, but it's too much time of Sam being so bloody still and silent. He pats his DI's cheek, several times. “Sam. Tyler. C'mon, don't be daft, wake up you twat...”

 

And for once, Sam follows his orders. His face contorts, then he coughs, and Gene hurries to help him sit up, careful to avoid touching the burned hand.

 

“That's it, c'mon, come back to us...”

 

More coughing, then a groan, and Sam's eyes crack open. “Ugh-- god... what...” He breaks off and screws his eyes shut again in pain. “Jesus, my 'ead...”

 

A flash of light and a crash of thunder following way too close after convince Gene to get Sam inside. Way too dangerous out here. A glance at Marlowe shows that the man is still out cold, and for the moment Gene really couldn't care less whether he still is alive or not. As he does his best to help Sam up to his feet, he realizes it as bloody stupid to step out onto the roof in the first place. And he's sure that Sam would have thought of it, normally, he never would have run out, during a storm like that...

 

His thoughts are interrupted as Sam, not even quite on his feet yet, already topples over again, and Gene barely catches him before he hits the ground again.

 

“Oi oi, quit the act, Tyler.” He's become good at hiding concern.

 

“Can't...” Gene's barely able to understand Sam's muttering over the splashing of rain on concrete and more thunder, farther away now.

 

“ 'course yeh can, 's just one step after another.” He pulls him up again, pulling Sam's uninjured arm over his own shoulder to steady him, but something is wrong. The smaller man sways, stumbles, and again Gene has to reach out fast to prevent him from collapsing.

 

“... spinning... m-make it stop...”

 

Right. Something is _seriously_ wrong.

 

“Stop moanin', Gladys, we'll get you inside and call an ambulance.” Sam merely whimpers in response, raising a feeble hand to clutch his head. The wrong hand, as it turns out, and he cries out involuntarily as the abused skin stretches. That is when Gene has had enough. With one swift motion, he scoops up his dozy DI and carries him back to the building, back to safety.

  
Safety. He would have been safe if he had stopped to think, how dangerous it was to run out into the open during a raging thunderstorm like that.

 

Gene sets Sam down, his back propped up against a wall, and heads back out to take care of Marlowe. The bastard still hasn't woken up. Well, serves him right. Maybe Sam would have hung back, had he been thinking straight. But he hadn't been thinking straight. He had wanted to set things right, Gene knows. And Gene also knows that he had been the one to make sure Sam would make up for his earlier mistake.

 

But now, Sam's mistake has turned into his, Gene's mistake.

 

~*~

 

“For God's sake Gene, I'm not a kid.”

 

Sam indignantly brushes Gene's hand off his shoulder. “I can bloody walk on my own.”

 

“Well excuse me for tryin' to 'elp!” he snaps back, even though he actually doesn't want to, but how can he help it when Sam always pushes all his buttons, even when he doesn't do it on purpose? Because Gene knows, he bloody well knows Sam isn't doing this deliberately, not this time. So he swallows down the rest of his protestation and instead settles for walking close enough to his DI to be able to catch him, should his sense of balance decide to go skew-whiff again. Sam is already massaging his temple, his eyes screwed shut.

  
“Sorry. I'm sorry.”

 

Gene doesn't reply, holding open the door to Sam's flat instead.

 

A quick check-up at the hospital has revealed that, luckily, Sam doesn't seem to have sustained any permanent damage from the lightning strike. The doctor has warned him about mood swings, headaches, irritability, but Gene merely shrugged it off as “me DI's usual behaviour then”. However, as he watches Sam slump down into his arm chair, pulling his bandaged right hand into his lap in a protective gesture, he has to admit that this isn't his DI's usual behaviour at all.

 

“And Marlowe really is...” Sam says for the hundredth time, looking up through tired eyes.

 

“Banged up and not comin' out again for a bloody long time, if I 'ave anythin' to do with it,” Gene interrupts with a terse nod. Silence falls between them then, Sam staring off into space, and Gene not knowing what to say.

 

Suddenly, Sam huffs, nearly making Gene jump. “It was worth it then.”

 

“You what?”

 

Gene doesn't believe his eyes when he sees a smirk spread on Sam's lips.

 

“Chasing 'im. We got 'im in the end. We set it right.”

 

Gene keeps staring. He watches as the realisation sinks in, and Sam starts to relax slightly, but visibly. Gene can't believe it. Though, then again, he actually can. He snorts, shakes his head.

 

“You daft sod.”

 

But Sam's eyelids are drooping already. That's something the doctor said as well – the fatigue, and probably more sleep difficulties after that. But that is something Gene can deal with, easily. One more glance at Sam, who is quickly slipping off into sleep, and Gene heads for the kitchen. Seems like he's going to be spending quite some time in this hole calling itself a flat, so he better get acquainted with facilities and, more importantly, with Sam's liquor storage.

 

Gene looks back once more. Sam's head has lolled to the side. Sleeping in the bed would probably be more comfortable.

 

Gene sighs. Time to set this right.


End file.
